


The Call of The Hunt

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Mark Blackthorn is my spirit animal [1]
Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, It has to be Mark, Lady Midnight - Freeform, Mark Blackthorn is my spirit animal, Post-Lady Midnight, Shadowhunters - Freeform, The Dark Artifices - Freeform, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would never stop looking for the Hunt, because, much like Emma Carstairs, there would always be a part of you who desired that which they could not have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Call of The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, show of hands, who else was completely WRECKED by Lady Midnight? 
> 
> Mark Blackthorn is my mother fucking spirit animal and I just have so many feels that I need to expel them, so here we are. 
> 
> If you have not read Lady Midnight and are NOT into spoilers, click away honey, because this is set directly after the last line of the book. 
> 
> As always, endless love and worship to my bestie, Unkissed. They may have not read LM yet, but I still love them and the way they listen to me ramble on about the Blackthorns.

You think that you can hear it in your dreams, the call of the Hunt. Your eyes glide smoothly beneath sheathed lids and your ears hollow out; listening. A chorus of mournful horns and thrashing hooves creeps across the sky, delicately coasting across the water and through an open window. Your eyes move faster now because you hear the sound of your dreams, the dreams that torment your sleep and will always do so.

 

When your eyes at last flutter open you feel alone, despite the warmth of this bed and the comfort of a pillow beneath your head. Your movements are quick and light as you rise and silently drop feet to the floor, tonal eyes wide and searching. You know that it cannot be so; you have earned your freedom from the Hunt, although you are not so certain that freedom is what you might call it.

 

Your form is soundless as you cross the darkened room to the window, a soft ocean breeze upsets the gauzy curtains and remind you of a diaphanous dance; _not unlike Faerie_ , you think. You scan a horizon littered with stars, stars that had once held the names of your family in them, and you search. You are fully woken now, the final remnants of a sleepy embrace have been chased away by the cool nights air and the ghosts of your sleeping mind. You know that this is where you belong; here within these sacred walls, surrounded by the love of your family. They need you, they’ve never _stopped_ needing you, and you think that it is this knowledge alone that keeps you tethered here.

 

A soft sigh breaks your lips apart as you stand there, searching the sky for the comfort of what you know. You hadn’t always been so, but just as your siblings have grown and changed, so have you. You are in and of the Hunt and a part of you, the wild and free part, will always belong to it. Silently you remind yourself that you are home and that your home had never been Faerie. You had, after all, been taken against your will. But such is the case with such things, isn’t it? Human will is made to be broken and shifted and besides, you were never _just_ human anyhow.

 

A gentle rustle of fabric from within the room behind you reminds you that you are not alone. A faint smile quirks the corners of your mouth as you abandon thoughts of the Hunt for more recent memories. You know that your actions this night will not sit well with your brother, Julian. You, along with several others, have seen the look in his eyes when he gazes at her. There is much you do not understand still, many questions and answers that have yet to pass between you and the sleeping one; but there is time, and you are patient.

 

You turn your head enough that you can just make out her form over your shoulder. Years of riding the skies with the Hunt have rendered your sectoral vision more than perfect. You see things that many do not; you see things that you sometimes wish you did not, too. She is lying half-shielded by smooth silk in the center of the bed, her bed—The bed she had called her own for many years now. Golden rivulets of her tangled mane fan out around her head like a wild halo and you think that she resembles some sort of wild goddess; although you cannot say which one. You see determination in her, even while she is caught in the embrace of slumber. You still remember her as a child, you think of them all as children, but even that has changed too. Her body shifts beneath the silken sheet and she mumbles something incoherent that makes you smile wistfully and you think that you will not regret this union as much as she. Emma Carstairs is likened to an untamable animal; you see it sometimes, in her eyes. She has suffered much in her life, all beneath this roof have in some form or another, but the suffering has not tempered her. You think that perhaps she can be the one to lead you away from the longing of the Hunt, although deep down, you know that she will never be yours because she belongs to no one; certainly not someone like you.

 

You turn away from her and gaze back out the open window, craning subtly, as if somehow searching for that siren’s call. You feel settled and somehow unsettled, and you wonder if it will always be this way. Your heart has been divided between your family and freedom, even if you know that it isn’t _really_ freedom that you are missing. A star winks at you from its spot in the blackness and you find yourself smiling and thinking of him; the one you could not forgive or forget. He is as lost to you now as the Wild Hunt, which you firmly remind yourself is what you want. Kieran, Gentry soul that he was, would never understand this part of you and you think it is for the best. Shadowhunters are not meant to wallow in the ways of Fey, but you have never been _just_ a Shadowhunter.

 

Another soft whisper of fabric from behind pulls your thoughts back to the present and you sigh softly, eyes still fixed on the blacked out horizon. “Mark?” A sleepy voice beckons, and you close your eyes and smile.

 

“I am sorry if I have woken you,” You whisper as you turn to face her, and although she is half-cast in shadows, her eyes burn like coal black diamonds in the darkness.

 

She shakes her head in a way that sends a cascade of tangled hair over her shoulder. “It’s fine,” She murmurs, although you can clearly see that it is anything but.

 

Emma wears confliction like her armor; hardened and true. She steels herself because she knows that this is the _right_ thing to do, even if it kills her. She would take a thousand torturous deaths to save Jules because no one hurts Julian. _No one_. Except that isn’t really true, and she knows it. She is hurting him now, and soon, she will break him. She swallows around the lump in her throat and forces thoughts of Julian’s hurt eyes away, that Blackthorn blue that is capable of seeing straight into her soul. She glances over to you, catching you watching her with an unreadable expression. Her heart thumps hollow in her chest and she shudders, her face momentarily cracking with the anguish that will become an old friend in time.

 

_It has to be Mark._

 

“Mark I…” Emma’s words dry in her throat and she gazes across the room at you with wild eyes. She never meant for this to happen, not _this._ She suddenly becomes extremely aware that you are both naked and she shivers imperceptibly, feeling vulnerable and guilty. It was one thing to look at this thing with you as the deception that it was, and quite another to succumb to the most basic of desires.

 

She stares at you for a long time with no words between, but you are not bothered by it. You do not need words to understand. Emma looks as if she is being ripped in half and you feel regret for her, in your own way. You are still much more of that feral Fey child that came back to them, even if you don’t look it on the outside.

 

Your fingers let go the curtain as you turn towards her, the pale strips of your flesh that are visible in the moonlight, blinding in their way. You do not think to be hindered or embarrassed by your naked body, she had already seen you in all your resplendent glory, as it were.

 

Emma’s gaze follows you as you move back towards the bed, _her_ bed. The bed she’d only shared with Jules or the occasional younger Blackthorn sibling. The bed she had now desecrated with his brother. She tries to look away from you as you settle down into the soft mattress opposite her, but she can not. You are as beautiful and strange as a symphony; even her love for Julian could not deny her that. There were so many things that she wanted to say to you; so many things she was afraid to say out loud. She needed this lie between you to blossom like a night flower, and if this were the start of making that happen, then she would take whatever came for her after this. Nothing mattered to her except Jules. He had to be safe; _she_ had to keep him safe.

 

You found your way back to Emma Carstairs’ bed and climbed atop it, folding yourself up into a seated position opposite her. You could see the thin lines of regret and worry stretching across her expression and although you thought you might have frowned, you smiled instead. You were more alike than she cared to admit, she and you. You would do this for Julian because she had asked it of you, but you would also do it for Emma because her tortured beauty called to the parts of you that were not visible.

 

Emma cleared her throat, and lowered her gaze, the awkwardness of the moment causing a deep rosy flush to creep across her cheeks that were smattered with freckles. “I never meant for this to happen,” She whispered, gesturing between you with a pale finger and willing you to understand.

 

Your head tilted as you watched her, your curiosity of how she worked outwardly evident. “You never meant for what to happen?” You ask plainly, eyes still fixated on her form.

 

Emma sighed and shook her head, the cold ache of regret already creeping into her bones. She shouldn’t have expected you to be anything other than the way you are, Faerie had changed you, and they all knew it. “I just wanted the lie, we weren’t supposed to sleep together.” Her words came out in a jumble that sounded like strangled breaths, which caused your amused smile to falter, only just.

 

“The best lies are always based on truth. Intimacy seems the best way to cut your path, does it not? Julian will see the truth of this night in your eyes and he will never forget it. He sees all of you that there is to see and this will break him…is that not what you wanted, Emma?”

 

You spoke in somewhat clinical tones that made her stare back at you in horror. Faerie were like that, weren’t they? —Brutally honest and quick to the point. Emma opened her mouth to protest but quickly snapped it closed, your words turning over and over in her mind. You were right, of course, about all of it. Jules wouldn’t want to believe it, but the truth of it in her eyes would make it impossible for him _not_ to believe, and it would break him.

 

Emma took a deep, cleansing breath and shut her eyes for just a moment, willing her nerves to settle beneath the surface of her own skin. She could do this. She was strong; strong enough to pretend to love you so that it might save Julian. This would not break her. “You’re right,” She murmured finally, and when she opened her eyes again, she found you smiling.

 

“Of course I’m right,” You replied offhandedly, and the casual shrug of your shoulder reminded Emma of a child’s innocence somehow.

 

You move just then, alerting every single one of Emma’s heightened senses. You shift onto your knees and place your open palms flat across them, peering at her so intently with those conflicting eyes. She decides that confliction was the best possible way to describe your gaze; she could see it in you, even if you never said. One eye a beautiful, Blackthorn blue to represent the side of you that you’d thought you had lost forever, now returned. The other eye, a deep gold, signifying the Hunt that would always be a part of you; no matter how much time you spent regaining your previous life. Emma felt kindred with you, for she too was a study in confliction, even if not so outwardly obvious. Her love for Jules was absolute and it was the part of her that hurt her the most, for wanting that which you cannot have be no way to live a life. And then there was the other side; the side that was sworn to fiercely protect Julian, her _parabati_. She would bust open the gates of hell to protect him, although it seemed a cruel trick of fate that she should protect him and break him in one swift, singular action.

 

“Your thoughts war with themselves in your heart of hearts, Emma Carstairs. I can see it in the light behind your eyes and in the hard line of your mouth.” You were speaking softly in her ear now, the warmth of your breath ruffling the strands of her hair in a way that made her shiver. Somehow she had leaned back against the pillows and you were now hovering above her, your weight nonexistent. She knew that everything about this night was wrong. You were not who she loved, who she needed. You were a means to an end, a distraction, and right now, she supposed she needed a distraction.

 

“Share your secrets with me, Emma.” You murmured against her temple, your lips hot like molten mercury against her skin. “I am rather skilled at carrying burden like it is nothing, and I will help you…If you wish it so.”

 

A soft whimper escaped her and she nodded, biting down hard on the soft flesh of her cheek and willing herself not to cry. You pulled away from her then, your movements quick and light, not unlike those of the Faerie blood that ran in your veins. She sat up and faced you, seated once again in front of her, watching carefully. The sheet pooled in her lap and she let it, determined to be as open and as free as you looked to her now, pale skin bathed in ethereal moonlight.

 

You waited patiently for her to speak, watching the cascade of emotions that filtered across her expression before they smoothed out to a pale, unreadable marble. You appreciated her determination and you had not been lying, you _would_ help her. You owed them all as much, perhaps Emma more than the rest.

 

Emma pushed her hair away from her face and took a deep breath, searching your sectoral eyes for the strength she knew she would need to draw on in earnest as time moved on around her. She spoke jaggedly and detached at first, trying to convey that clinical tone that seemed to come to you so easily. But she was not you, and she was neither detached nor clinical. She was a Carstairs, and no amount of tempering could wield the fire in her heart.

 

She told you everything, no detail left unspoken. She spoke of forbidden love and of Jem and his warning about the bonds of _parabati_ and how they could become twisted and ugly. She held nothing back from you at all and she hoped you would understand. This was all for Jules, _all for Jules_ , and it had to be enough.

 

_It has to be Mark._

 

You listened to Emma speak, silent and still with your hands resting open on bare knees. You could see the despair of love in her eyes, paining her expression and crippling her heart, but you could also see everything else, and it compelled you now more than it ever had.

 

The darkness of night had already begun to fade when Emma at last fell silent, acutely aware of the torturous seconds that ticked off between you. She searched your gaze for understanding or revulsion, or maybe even regret; she would take just about anything at all at this point. You reached forward in a gesture that was so slight it could almost have passed for magic, and your fingers that twisted in the wild ends of her hair felt oddly comforting. Her eyes fell closed and she breathed in deeply through her nose, feeling far more naked to you on the inside than she was on the outside. She didn’t know if she had the strength to carry this lie alone, and perhaps it had been selfish of her to lay everything on you as well, but she couldn’t help it.

 

_It has to be Mark._

 

“You are not alone, Emma.” Your voice was soft and somehow hard, like a deceptive breeze that swept destruction without even trying. Emma opened her eyes and met your gaze, and whether subconscious or not, she focused on your golden eye of the Hunt because the Blackthorn blue cut her too deeply.

 

It was some time later that you returned to Emma’s open window, your gaze fixated once again on the horizon. Impending sunrise was slowly chasing the darkness away, bleeding light into the shadows and muting out the stars. You wondered if you were somehow wrong for feeling pride in carrying Emma’s pain and her secrets too, if that somehow made you less human and more Faerie. You were well aware that this was something that Emma felt she needed to do, and you were also aware that you were but an instrument in this game, but you didn’t mind. You had become an instrument long before Emma Carstairs imparted her despair upon you.

 

You made not a sound as you slipped into your jeans and t-shirt, glancing a final time at the bed, where Emma lie trapped in fitful sleep once more. Your mouth curved into a smile that would have looked feral to anyone who had seen it, and when you swiftly climbed out her window and scaled the building to the roof, the cool air made you feel alive again. Alone, you will watch the sun rise above the horizon, watering gaze never faltering as you welcomed this new day. You were home now, or as much home as you ever would be, and you were determined to make your life here, where you knew you truly belonged.

 

You would never stop looking for the Hunt, because, much like Emma Carstairs, there would always be a part of you who desired that which they could not have.

 

 


End file.
